Rainy Day Lessons
by Lain of the Weird
Summary: Clouffie. A short that may have a second part. I'm quite rusty at this writing summaries thing, can you tell? I'd like to think it's somewhat unconventional, but I may be wrong.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer/A.N: I own nothing, besides a shiiiiny new ipod, a computer, and three pairs of arm warmers. I own nothing from Square, despite ferverent wishes that it was otherwise. _

_Now that summer's over I'm finally back in the writing mood. Look for more one shots and updates. Because I rawk like that._

"Cloud?"

He looks up from where he had been staring out at the rain. It hadn't stopped raining in Traverse Town for almost two weeks now, courtyards were flooded, and the entire town was gradually turning into a wanna-be Atlantis, bone chilling water ankle deep everywhere.

The rather sodden ninja grins at her dry friend. It was actually kind of creepy. Yuffie smiled all the time, of course, but this was different. Her expression was almost… forced, mouth contorting oddly. Wrathfully.

The blond man gives his life long friend a wary look. "I am."

One hundred and eleven pounds of cold wet teenager launches at his chest, a four eleven tsunami of rainwater and energy. The force knocks him flat on his back, momentarily disoriented. He would _swear_ he hadn't been looking at the ceiling a minute ago.

Two small icy hands settle on his neck, thumbs resting gently on either side of his trachea, bitten nails scratching slightly.

Her violet eyes seem rather closer than they normally are. "You." She hisses, breathe unnaturally warm against his cheek. "Left me alone on patrol today. With Squall."

Cloud frowns at this. They had drawn straws this morning, out of a unanimous agreement that there was no point to all three of them being soggy every day. Someone should get a rest once in a while. The system almost always worked. Not always in his favor, either.

"You and Leonhart have patrolled together before." His attempt at logic. Accurate, but completely irrelevant to the aggrieved ninja.

"**Don't** change the subject." She glares at him, adjusting her position on his chest. "You left me alone. With him."

Her fingernails, short and ragged as they are, are pricking his throat. So he does the only logical thing he can think of. With frightening speed and accuracy, his hands rise from the dampening duvet, and begin tickling the teenager mercilessly.

For a moment the black haired girl doesn't react, but that passes almost immediately, and she collapses against him, shrieking helplessly. Damn him twice for knowing her weakness and again for having the guts to exploit it.

"S-s-s-s-st-STOP IT!"

He stops, looking down at the girl now sprawled across his lap, cheeks flushed from uncontrollable laughter, eyes sparkling. Something alien catches in his throat, and he suppresses it by rubbing his knuckles against her skull roughly.

"Heeeeeeey, you. Cut it out." She slaps ineffectively at his hands, rolling away from him. "That's not nice, you know. I come to you to talk and all you can do is abuse my poor battered body." She gestures lazily at a thin, nearly invisible laceration just above the hem of her shorts. "Stupid shrapnel."

That feeling again, the room's too small, and too warm. Cloud liked math, was quite good at it, and his mind babbles that it is physically impossible for the room to be more crowded with just him and Yuffie in it, compared to when it's Sora, Leon, Yuffie, Aerith, and himself.

"So what can I do for you?"

She gives him an impatient look. "I'm ge-etting to it. Hush." She gives him a rather cheesed look, making sure that he wasn't going to interrupt her immediately.

"Well, me and Squall were patrolling the sewers, you know, for heartless. And he just out of the blue wants to spar."

Cloud nods at the pause. He knew Leon better than almost anyone, and he still didn't understand what possessed the man to do the things he did.

"So we spar, blah de freaking blah. You know how he goes. Hack, transform. Hack some more." She shakes her head. "Stupid swords. Anyway. He just… looks at me, and tells me that if he wins, I have to go have dinner with him. In the middle of the match."

Well, there went that warm feeling in the room. Cloud nods, pushing a bit of butter colored hair out of his eyes.

"Now I'm thinking he's finally flipped. All those three thirty am practices, what have you. Driven him baloney. As it would anyone. So I agree. Stop looking at me like that!" She pouts, sticking her lower lip out in a fake pout. "I've whipped him before."

Ah. There went the temperature back up to unnaturally warm. Was the furnace on? Somehow he doubted it.

"Then he just… does this funny gesture thing with his sword. Kind of swishy. Something you'd expect Aerith to do with her staff. Only not _quite_ as feminine. And I just can't move. Like…" She tugs her nose thoughtfully, trying to think of a good comparison. "Like when you leave your foot in a weird position, and then you can't feel or move it afterwards. Numb. And then he just sticks his over sized sword at my neck and tells me to meet him at the restaurant in second district. And… and… what the hell am I going to do?" She bursts out, giving his pillow a powerful thump.

He really had no idea what to say to the teenager. Don't go of you don't want to? She was smart enough to figure that one out on her own. Besides, she had a ninja's pride, oxymoronic as that sounded, and wouldn't ever back out of a bet just because she lost.

He watches her face carefully, before throwing in the towel. In for a penny and all that bull. "Anything else I can do for you, Yuff?"

She suddenly seems smaller, sitting back on her heels, water soaking from her clothes onto his covers, spreading out in a dark circle on the cotton. "I… I don't know." She flops across his knees again, giving him an imploring look. "I've just never been on a date before, you know? What do I do?"

_Stay here with me._ Stupid brain. Wrong answer. "Those are questions for Aerith." He points out dryly. He was no good with anything that hinted of femininity or romance. Maybe that was why he was so fond of the girl currently draped over his thighs. She was the antithesis of a lady, all odd angles, curves few and far between. Not someone who would ever want to be worshipped on a pedestal or treated like a rose.

She gives him a slightly affronted look. "I know. But Aerith is… Aerith." Brilliant Yuffie. Bonus points for stating the blatantly obvious. "I mean… she'd want to know why I wanted to dress up, or who I was meeting. You know." She makes a somewhat vague gesture. "Information of a sensitive nature."

Cloud nods, not at all feeling enlightened. "And…?"

"And what do I do if he kisses me!" The greatest ninja ever throws her arms out in a helpless gesture. "I never even kissed my Dad, for Shiva's sake."

He could feel to where this was leading, and there's a brief surge of elation, before logic and cynicism squashes him down. She wanted to date Leonhart, Bastion's hero. Didn't want to look bad in front of the man who had kept her and Aerith in one piece while he himself was playing lackey to one of the nastier deities in the universe. "And…?" Fucking brilliant Strife. Why would anyone talk to you? All they'd need was a recording.

"Oh. My. Gawd!" She sits bolt upright and gives him a rather exasperated look. "I might not be able to look pretty, or dress nicely," she makes the slightest gesture towards her chest, though Cloud can't for the life of him what _those_ have to do with anything at hand. "But I don't want to come across as a total kid." She gives him an expectant look, puppy like. "Can you teach me? To kiss?"

_No. Absolutely not. Keep your lips to yourself, and I'll make sure that Leonhart and I do the same._ But her eyes are shimmering, and she's making that face, the one that's held sway over him since she passed the three foot mark on the measuring tape.

He was only human.

He shifts her off his lap, clamping down on his logic and most of his hormones. His hand rests against her jaw, and he presses his mouth against her's.

He swore that was all he'd do. A quick, cut and dry lips pressed together. Until she let out a soft squeak, pixie fingers digging into his scalp and shoulder, returning the pressure curiously. Of its own volition, his other hand moves to the center of her back, right above the line of her shorts, and he slowly changes the feel of his mouth against hers.

There's a hint of camphor from her chapstick, almost intoxicating, but she doesn't let him savor her for too long. She was bolder, and curiouser, and not the one making out with the possible girlfriend of her best friend. Her tongue, usually stuck out at him immaturely, was now sliding along his own roughed lips, and heat starts pooling in places that it hadn't visited for a long while.

This had to stop. He was the responsible one, and she had a date. Now there was a thought to kill the mood. He pulls away gently, watching the stars sparkle in blue violet eyes. "Ah…. And that's how it's done."

Yuffie doesn't move from Cloud's lap. That was not where she had been originally, but hell. He couldn't keep track of everything. That was someone else's job. She mouths the word 'wow' quickly, before hopping up, and spinning around the room giddily.

She jogs back over to the bed, ruffling his hair. "You're a good man, Cloud Strife. See ya." With no farther ado, she skips out of the room, for her date.

Funny. The rain hadn't sounded so lonely before she had come in. He and the rain; they could be lonely together.

_Ending Notes: Depending on the reading I get from the reviews, there may be a second chapter, one shot or not. Some pointes of clarification: I realize that Cloud's feelings seem kind of… sudden, but in my mind he's been feeling **something** for Yuffie beyond the older brother affection type stuff that is blatantly obvious. Also, ages have been tweaked to make everything fit a little better: Yuffie is seventeen, Cloud is nineteen, and Squ… Leon is twenty one. _


	2. Two

_Disclaimer/AN: Don't own it. Sorry. I /am/ writing. Really. Just… slow. So here's part 2 or 2, but you haven't seen the last of this pairing. –cracks knuckles-- I don't actually know what taking short of anything is like, it's all a figment/filament of my imagination. Life would be more interesting if it wasn't._

His eyes follow the two people sheltering under the umbrella, walking with the confidence of warriors out of the hotel and into the sparse evening light towards the restaurant.

He doesn't resentful towards his lion hearted friend, really. It's just… complicated. He nods, watching them disappear from his limited view of the window, before rolling off the cushioned window seat.

Cloud avoids looking at the damp patches on the bed. Teaching Yuffie how to kiss was probably the closest he was ever going to get to her. For the briefest moment, his brain offers up an Eden of what the two of them could have done on his bed, skin on skin, a mixture of sweat and rainwater.

He shakes his head, sending the image scattering into the four winds. He was Cloud Strife, and Cloud Strife was a good man. He did not take advantage of teenage innocence. Bugger him and his morals.

He reaches for his Ultimate Weapon, hand hesitating about the iridescent pink and blue crystal blade. Hitting something is a marvelous idea, and he knows it. But there's only so much satisfaction you can get from one hit smiting everything in sight. And seeing as there were no people to pwn (read Leon), that left the Heartless. Pitifully shitty opponents, at the best of times.

He stalks over to his closet, sneezing loudly at the sudden precipitation of dust. He kneels down, pulling out a rather old cardboard box, clumsily shut with adhesive tape. The box clangs softly as he sets it on the table, tearing the tape off with a rip of brown paper.

Enough small arms for a battalion wink up at him, greeting an old friend. These weapons had, quite literally, been through hell with him. Out come two dirks, stiletto blades reaching from wrist to elbow, and enough throwing knives and small blades in general to make anyone jealous. He had sold memories and blood to have these in the Underworld, when his soul belonged to someone else. They saved his metaphysical life, but at a very high price.

He hates to think on those times, and sets his mind to the problem of figuring out how to carry things smaller and lighter than Buster swords. After a moment of rearranging his sword belt, he managed to secure the old dagger frogs to the chest and waist areas, the weapons only nanoseconds away from his grip. A few of the thinnest knives go into his wrist guards and boots, and he's ready to go kick some serious ass.

It pleases the blond to no end that he can still carry eighteen individual weapons and not clink when he walks. Admittedly, a certain girl who he's not thinking about right now can carry upwards of a hundred silently, but he's not thinking about her or the way her mouth felt against his. Definitely not.

The Waterway is quiet, with only the odd Shadow sneaking around, trying to look like it's name, and failing, courtesy of big munny sized eyeballs. The knives feels comforting in his gloved hands as they _swish thunk_ into the monster, low level beast disappearing with a squeal and a burst of gems.

It's good to know he still has his old skills, or most of them at any rate, but Shadows are pathetically easy, and he moves onto the third district, watching the Heartless mill around, snapping impatiently at each other. The rain is freezing, and he welcomes the heat that comes from abrupt kinetic movement, adrenaline soaring as he leaps, kamikaze style, onto a Defender's back, dirk blades sliding into his palms, driving deep into the gaps in the thing's armor. The Heartless lets out a roar of enraged agony, whirling around in an attempt to find the human digging into its back.

Cloud hangs on to the weapons sunk to the hilts in whatever tissue is beneath the armor. Black goo bubbles around his hands with a sulfurous stench, and he throws his weight against the hilts, dragging them down fractionally, spraying Heartless gore everywhere. Another bestial scream of agony, and the monster flings itself back against a stone wall, forcing Cloud onto its shoulders as it smashes the weapons deeper.

_Well. Fuck._ He laughs, Mako enhanced eyes sparkling as his booted foot makes contact with a helmeted head, Defender exploding into a shower of glowing green spheres, munny, and his dirks. He scoops the weapons up, shaking the worse of the ichor off, and turning his attention to a Wizard, tips of his hair frosting over as he dodges a Blizaga. Out comes a throwing knife, zinging away from his hand and burying itself into the desired target, sans the desired effect.

Part of having his soul saved by Sora apparently had involved sacrificing some of his power. Would figure, but it's all water under the bridge now. Can't do crap about what he hasn't got right now, and he swings forward, scoring through thick woolen robes, dodging flailing blows from a staff and curses.

He gets a few good hits into the area, before _something_ swoops down, claws piercing through thick blue shirt and several layers of epidermis, before flapping loudly into the air.

He turns, stomach muscles unused to such a maneuver, and the flesh on his back protesting loudly as skin tears. Beady green eyes look down at him; the wyvern's scalding breath reeking of fetid meat.

Ah. Shit.

The Wyvern is smirking at him as it lunges down to take a nice chomp on his exposed throat. What it gets instead is magically reinforced leather surrounding the best throwing knives you can buy. Quite a nasty shock, probably.

Cloud grimaces at the pressure on his wrist, less bothered by the knife edges digging into his flesh than the shattering pressure on a hand that he valued quite highly.

Boot. Hand. Eye. If the stiletto he had just forced that journey upon was surprised, the weapon gave no sign of it, just sunk deeply into the rather puzzled Heartless eye, the creature dissolving, and letting the man go.

It was a rather long way down, but even as air whistles through his hair, the ex mercenary is in motion, freeing his next closest knife, in preparation for the Dark Ball he was about to land on.

For the next several hours its no holds barred for anyone, the blond man picking up knives as he comes across them, surrounded by healing bubbles and gold coins. Cloud is everywhere sprays of black and bursts of gold and green follow, blond hair the closest thing to sunlight Traverse Town has currently.

Eventually, around two in the morning, the Heartless cease their spawning, leaving the man kneeling in a pool of blood and weaponry. He can't move for a moment, healing powers secreted by the Heartless filming over the rather large number of slashes, cuts scrapes, lacerations, burns, bruises, and hurts that he managed to collect in five hours of fighting.

The bodies and blood of slaughtered Heartless are knee deep in some places, and it accompanies a sense of déjà vu, a time when bodies had stacked like this, running with red ribbons from opened veins and arteries.

He moves away from the destruction swiftly, trying to outrun those memories. Best left forgotten. It takes him a rather long moment to force drained limbs to key in the codes to the second district, but the mammoth door at long last swings open, and he slips into a deserted square.

Only in the Hotel to a thousand lights of red, yellow, green, and blue glow, and he stares for a long moment, before forcing exhausted legs into a sprint.

Heartless.

Nocturnes and Operas flitter out of his way as he shoves the doors open; knives flying from his hands into whatever were closest, slicing through the ranks like butter. At the end of the hallway is a lavender door, 'Boys Keep Out' painted on in clumsy neon orange. Yuffie's room since he had arrived here.

What he witnesses it not at all what he had expected. Instead of rather half awake ninja beating down Heartless, there is no ninja, there is no Heartless, and her bed is still as made as when he was dragged via earlobe by a rather feminazi maid to help her in keeping this place clean. She hadn't slept here.

Everything fades somewhat, the glittery sounds of the elemental Heartless, clanking of Defenders and Soldiers, even the eye smarting purples are grey-er to Cloud. She had decided to spend the night in Leon-fucking-Lionhart's room.

"Well, fuck me." He growls, stalking back out of the ninja's room and slamming the door behind him. Listless, he fights without a care for himself. There wasn't any energy left in him to avoid the claws and teeth, weapons moving with only half their normal grace and efficiency.

More out of sheer luck than talent, he clears through the Heartless in the hall, slipping into his room, to be met by a sight he hadn't ever imagined possible.

Yuffie Kisaragi, dressed in his faded 'Beethoven is my Homeboy' teeshirt, ancient material slipping off her shoulders, straining to hold his Ultimate Weapon, in spite of the fact that the thing is exactly seven inches longer than she is tall, and about six pounds lighter. She's swinging at four Large Bodies, massed in the center of his room, doing the best she can to kick ass with a sword physics does not think she ought to use. Beyond the bodies, he can see his bed, in complete disarray. Not the ruffled, teen age girl was jumping on furniture to try and stay unsquished piece. This was the complete chaos of someone had been sleeping in his bed (not him, obviously) and been woken rather rudely. It was disturbingly heart warming, and a relief.

So she hadn't decided to spend the night with Leonhart, playboy extraordinaire.

He loosens his weapons, before launching himself at the Heartless, pummeling bits that get in his way on his quest to reach a nearly fatigued teenager. He scrambles out of the pile of black and purple limbs, tossing his lighter weapons at her feet, and taking his sword back, weapon comfortably weighted in his grip.

"Bet I kill more than you." An old line, though he doesn't know why. All he remembers is a certain amusement when saying it, guaranteed for warm fuzzy feelings later.

"You're on." The smaller girl scoops up his weapons, before trying to hitch the grayed fabric of his shirt back onto her skinny shoulder.

The two attack, and the monsters don't stand a chance, between the girl on their backs almost burrowing through their bodies, and the man cleaving through bones.

The battle is over almost too soon for the warriors, though Yuffie is secretly still mostly asleep, and Cloud's cuts have broken open again. Human bodies are so weak compared to the souls they house.

He watches the girl stalk back over to _his_ bed, falling onto his mattress and curling up slightly, burrowing under his blankets. The lump of covers receives a faintly put off look, before the sender of the look occupies himself with stripping off his armor, gloves, shirt, and boots with minimal discomfort to himself. Not easy.

He succeeds eventually though, and pads over to loom over the bed, tugging the covers away from a dark head. "Do you mind?"

"Nope." The ninja replies drowsily, making a rather pitiful effort to take back the warmth.

Cloud drops the blankets and sits carefully on the edge of the bed. "You. Move." He wasn't cranky about the fact that she was in his bed, quite the opposite. Beds were nice soft warm places. People held each other in that sort of place, and holding led to other things. Those Other Things? They were the problem here. Moral problems, blech.

Yuffie rolls over, leaving enough room for… well… him beside her. She couldn't possibly know that she was this much of a tease. Right?

He places his hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently. The muscle over the joint was impossibly tiny, not even the size of his palm. Stupid observational skills. "Yuffie. Get out."

"You're bleeding on me. Euch." She doesn't even lift her head from his pillow, just covers his hand with hers, sending an electrical Curaga fizzling through his nervous sytem.

It was like taking a short of quality Crown Royal. It warmed him immediately, and undid a little under half his control, lust seeping out through those cracks. _What the hell, eh?_ He slips in beside her, snagging his pillow back and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

She wriggles around a bit, wisps of hair tickling his pectorals, before getting comfortable, breath warm across his clavicle.

Apparently Curaga made you talkative, too. "How did your date go?" Under any normal circumstance, he wouldn't have even considered asking the question, much less actually voicing it.

She rolls on top of him, inter lacing her fingers over his breastbone and resting her chin on her fingers, blue violet eyes staring at him cheerfully. "It didn't." She pauses to consider her warning. "Euh, it wasn't a date per se. More of Squallie Wallie making use of an hour and a half to get on my case. You know, blah blah fighting style needs refining, blah, shurikens suck, blah, blah, stop acting like a kid." Her eyes flash, "and he told me that if I was going to be the greatest female ninja ever I should start drinking coffee to keep up with him." She makes a grotesque face at Cloud's wince. "I'm not _that_ bad, am I?"

Cloud gives up on following the monologue after the word 'didn't'. All he had really caught after that was the term 'drinking coffee'. The idea of an over caffeinated Yuffie is not a pretty one. "So, why are you here?" He gets the sinking feeling that he's turning into a Chatty Cathy. Crap.

Yuffie doesn't move from on top of him, and Cloud is unsure if he should feel elation or chagrin. "A Behemoth attacked First District. Squall and Sora went off to lay the hurt down. I got to stay here and protect Aerith." She wrinkles her nose slightly.

Cloud nods, before tugging on her nose lightly. "Why my room, though?"

She removes his hand, not letting go after it leaves her nose alone. "I thought you'd be here, nitwit. Not gallivanting around getting scratched up." She thumps his shoulder gently.

The word 'sorry' is on Cloud's tongue, when pale girl lips come to press against his, Yuffie somehow having stretched or crawled up to his eye level. He can feel her weight, feather light to him, pressing on either side of his head, worn cotton shirt filming against his skin.

"I was worried about you, you stupid schmuck."

He's surprised, both by her language, where would she learn a word like that, and her tone. It was huskier than he had heard before, erotic. Her hand is warm against her skin, and he gets a brief look at eyes brimming with emotion, before her mouth meets his again, demanding.

She bites, and he's not entirely surprised. This may not have been verbatim from his seventeen year old fantasies, but it's tantalizingly close, her mouth against his collarbone, his throat.

He pulls her away from his skin, hands on the bare skin of her hips, pulling her back up and down, allowing him to explore with leisure her earlobe, junction of neck and shoulder, down to where soft salty skin is covered by material.

The tee shirt does not last as long as it might have on other nights.


End file.
